The Last Place on Earth
by lysjelonken
Summary: Jane finds Lisbon on the last place on Earth he'd ever expect to... Jisbon oneshot


**The last place on earth**

**Plot: Jane finds her on the last place on earth he thought he ever would.**

**Sorry, I haven't watched any season 3 yet (mainly because it isn't in my country yet), but I've read and heard so… Hope its okay.**

**Disclaimer: No, not mine.

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He hated coming here. The few times he did, it was mostly when someone persuaded him (like when Danny came), or if he needed to give himself an intense reminder about what his life was.

It was like a slap in the face reminder of everything that haunted him.

The graveyard.

Angela and Charlotte were buried on her family plot in the graveyard; a giant grassy plain filled with weeds, spotted with grey granite headstones. They're spot was somewhere in the middle of a giant clutter of stones and was practically impossible to find. After twenty minutes of driving in circles, he finally found the right way and started the long walk to the gravestones.

He didn't want to come here; he never did. But right now he needed to remind himself about the bigger picture and staring at the by-now familiar red face on his wall wasn't cutting it. Finally, he reached the haunted place and sat down beside the two stones: On his right, the one with Angela's name and to his left, with his little girl's.

Charlotte. He missed her more than anything.

He just sat there, a hand on each stone, and let the tears come. Most of the time he kept up his picture-perfect façade, only letting it slip in his weakest of moments.

He was angry and miserable and broken. The leftover shards of an already messed-up man.

"Hi…" He mumbles through hesitant breaths. He doesn't manage anything more…

His depressed thoughts were interrupted with the sound of a car somewhere behind him; he turned his head and saw the vehicle appearing in the driveway.

A black SUV. But the car wasn't what made his heart jump nervously. It was the woman who stepped out of the car.

Teresa Lisbon.

The agent who continually acted as a sunny spot; his saving grace.

How did she find him? Did she follow him?

He felt anger well up in him; lately he's been distancing himself. After Red John's last appearance, he realized how much danger he puts her and the team in. He didn't want anyone to suffer any more from his actions and he knew there was no way he'd be able to stop. It was actually one of the reasons he was driven here today; distancing himself for their benefit was hard on him too. After the death of his wife and child, after his breakdown and everything that followed, the team had become like a family to him. A rare comfort in a world now enveloped with darkness and hate. In the effort to protect them, he was hurting himself even more…

It was especially hard to distance him from _her_.

He watched her walk down the way and expects her to walk closer to him. But she turns the other way and walks in the opposite direction.

He stares incredulously and hastily wipes the tears from his cheeks. She doesn't look or turn back… She's not here for him?

Why else would she be _here_?

He slowly hoists himself up and looks back at the two tombstones. "I'll be right back…" He says softly, before he walks off in the same direction as Lisbon.

He's curious; if she didn't follow him and come here to pull him out of his miserable pit of self-loathing and guilt, as she often did, then why was she here?

He stalks off behind her, hiding behind trees when he gets close enough for her to hear.

She stops at a gravestone; now he notices the yellow daisies that hang from her hand.

_How did I not notice that?_

He watches her kneel in front of a grave and gently place the flowers upon it. And he watches her sit down with her back resting on the headstone, not unlike the way he was sitting only moments ago.

And then he sees something the last thing he thought he'd ever see: Teresa Lisbon sobbing.

He's seen her crying before. When he hypnotized her and she couldn't remember what happened, he saw her shed a few tears, fighting them all the way. When she had her fake-breakdown in front of the fake-psychologist, he saw her feverishly shredding crocodile tears – he remembers thinking that if the cop-thing didn't work out, she could really make herself a career in acting. Never had he seen her cry like this; full-on sobbing, heaving huffs of breath. Endless salty rivers falling from those sea-blue eyes.

It threw him.

He somehow found himself moving closer, closer. And then she looked up at him with those eyes of hers, now wet with tears and red and puffy.

Suddenly all the dark thoughts of the two graves across the graveyards evaporated. All the anger that he felt towards a faceless man who paints on walls with blood disappeared. The only thing his mind registered was that she was crying.

He fell on his knees beside her and took her into his arms, enveloping her in a tight embrace. He let her cry, feeling the hot drops against his shirt, and he stroked her hair and whispered comforting words into the silence.

"W-What are you doing here?" She said after, finally, she managed to catch her breath.

"I could ask you the same thing…" He said.

She took a deep breath, expelling the tears. _Oh Lisbon…_ He thought. _Ever stubbornly strong Lisbon…_

"It's been twenty five years." She whispers. His eyes dart back to the name on the gravestone and suddenly everything makes sense; terrible, heart-wrenching strength.

_Michelle Lisbon; Wife, Mother, Daughter_

Now that he thinks about it, she _has_ been acting differently lately. Is was possible that he thought it was a reaction to his distancing behavior, but truth is – and he knew it – that he was just too caught up in his own little self-centered world of vengeant thoughts to notice his best friend and… whatever… was going through a hard time. _Again_. Again he let the people he cared about down because his little sphere was just so much more important…

"Your mom?" He asks, gently.

"Yeah." She nods. Her head is still buried into his chest and his fingers are tangling themselves in the glossy, black waterfall of her hair.

"Twenty five years…" He muses. "That's a long time."

"It is." She pulls herself out of his embrace and her hands fly to her hair, trying to salvage the mess; he immediately misses the warmth. "You know what they say about time that heals? That's shit."

"Tell me about it…" He mumbles.

"It's hard…" She pulls her legs up into her so that she's leaning on her knees. He can't help but think that she looks adorable, even when she's in mourning. And she distracts him, even when he's in the most horribly attention-owning situation.

They sit in silence for a while. He feels like its drowning him…

"Teresa, I'm… sorry. For… lately." He apologized. He didn't know exactly how to put it; how do you say 'I'm sorry for being bent on killing a bloodthirsty serial killer because he killed my wife and child and am now pushing you away for your own protection'? Certainly not just like that?

But she seems to understand – she always does – and nods solemnly.

"It's alright… I guess I understand. But, you know, you don't make it easy on us."

He nods as well. Somehow words just don't seem appropriate.

After a while she braves a question in a hesitant tone: "Are they buried here?"

He's surprised but he doesn't show it. He simply nods.

"Wow… That's a pretty weird coincidence…"

More time passes in silence; comfortable silence. Somewhere along the line, her head rests on his shoulder and his hand snakes to rest on her knee. They sit there against her mother's gravestone, a few plots away from where his wife and child are buried, simply holding each other. They find simple comfort and warmth in each other's presence.

For the first time in a long time, Jane feels good. Calmed and comforted and warmed and _good_.

The soft skin on her knee was like silk under his fingertips; the gentle ebony curls tickle his chin; her warm body is pressed up against his side and he feels the soft rise and fall of her chest as she breaths gently.

He turns his head and kisses her forehead gently.

"We should get going." He says softly and watches her look up at him with her blue eyes – the puffiness has gone down and they aren't watery any more.

She nods and starts to get up. She makes to walk to her car, but he grabs her hand and stops her.

She looks back, turning to him and he feels a slightly inappropriate, unbelievably strong urge threaten to take over him. But instead of kissing her (beautiful, delicious, tempting) lips, he hugs her again. She feels good in his arms, better than he'd care to admit. He holds her longer than is considered professional, and definitely tighter.

He knows he should be feeling guilty; his slap-in-the-face reminder of every reason he _shouldn't_ be feeling was within spitting distance, and here he was hugging and thinking about _kissing_ another woman. But she was his comfort. Hugging her was like a drug; it numbed the pain he felt and made everything warm and fuzzy and alright again.

He can only imagine was kissing her would be like…

But then she pulls away and looks behind her shoulder awkwardly. "C'mon, we gotta get back." She walks away.

"Teresa." He calls her back. As she turns to look at them, he walks forward and catches her lips in a gentle kiss.

Oh, was he right. Hugging her made things alright; kissing her made things beautiful.

When they break, she looks up at him with confused eyes.

"Thank you." He whispers against her lips.

"For what?"

"For being my cure." He smiles.

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**Alrighty… Hope that was okay? Got the idea while writing maths exams today. The magical things you can come up with in exam times… Please review?**

**Zanny X**


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